Impossible Choices
by gaylock
Summary: The war is over, but instead of moving forwards, Harry goes back in time so that he can change the future and make sure the war never happens. But, years in the past, Harry will have to make a choice, an impossible choice. After all, it isn't the past which shows us who we truly are; it is our choices.
1. Prologue

**AN:** This will not focus on romantic relationships, and is NOT a Voldarry slash fic. Sorry, but I write enough slash and I wanted to try something different this time. Hopefully this is good, I don't really know where I'm going with it but I sort of have an idea of what I want the plot to be like...sort of. Any reviews would be good, give me some ideas and such, I might even use them.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the characters...or some of the plot devices, etc etc. Those belong to our Lady and Mistress JK Rowling, who was kind enough to let me borrow them for a while. The only thing which is mine is the plot, and I make no profit off of this. Unfortunately.

 **Warning:** violence, angst, probably self-harm and/or self-loathing, most likely some very vicious cliff hangers (sorrynotsorry)

 **Prologue: August 1998**

Harry stood in front of the headstone, his face blank and his hands hanging loosely at his sides. Three months ago today, the black and white marble headstone hadn't been there. Three months ago, he had finally defeated Voldemort. He had saved the world and millions of lives.

Three months ago he had walked his friends to their deaths.

 _Neither can live while the other survives._

And so Harry stood there, considering the past and the present and the future. He traced the name on the headstone with his fingers and knew that something had to change. It didn't matter that they'd won, it didn't matter that Voldemort was defeated; the price had been too high. He might have defeated him, but there was not longer a life to be lived. His friends were gone, his family was gone – he had no life without them. He took a step back and forced himself to look around at all the other fresh graves surrounding him, and knew what he had to do. As he retrieved the stolen Time-Turner from his pocket, Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

 _A power the Dark Lord knows not_ , he recited to himself in his mind as he turned the Time-Turner with a flick of his wrist. He stood there for a moment longer, his eyes closed, the Time-Turner still spinning, and he mouthed an apology and a farewell before he disappeared.

The graveyard was empty and still, the sudden silence and space where Harry had just been going unnoticed. The sky darkened above and slowly rain began to fall upon the headstones below.

 **AN:** Yeah, so, that is just the prologue...I already have the first chapter finished and I'll post it as soon as this gets a response. I don't really know if I'm going to continue with his idea, but if you people enjoy it, I might. If you do, then hit the review button and tell me! That way I won't give up on something people actually want to read.


	2. Chapter 1

**AN:** So, this is the first chapter...obviously. I'm really grateful for the response to the prologue, and decided that I would continue on with it, even though I don't really know where it's going. Yes, this is a Time Travel fic, and no, it's not eventual Voldarry slash. Sorry to disappoint, but that isn't going to change.

 **December, 1927**

When Harry opened his eyes, he found himself standing on an empty expanse of land, not a single grave in sight. Turning around, he took in the familiar trees and forest in the distance, and knew that despite there being no graveyard, he was still standing in the same place. He closed his eyes and sighed; it had worked. He hadn't been sure it would, and he had no idea how far back he'd gone, but he was willing to bet that it was far enough.

Looking sadly around the empty field, he let himself feel a moment of regret, before closing his eyes and disapparating away. When he next appeared, he was standing in the Leaky Cauldron, which looked surprisingly similar to how Harry was used to it looking. He felt a pang of sadness before pushing it down; it wouldn't do him any good, and he needed to move on if he ever wanted to get anything done. With a sigh and a last glance around the dingy pub, Harry moved on towards the barrier between the establishment and his destination: Diagon Alley. He tapped his wand on the stones and waited for the doorway to open.

As soon as he stepped past the wall, it became glaringly obvious that he was in a completely different day and age; the shops were all bright and full and overflowing with energy, and Harry's eyes were open wide with wonder. There were twice as many shops now than there were in his time, and despite remembering Diagon Alley pre-war time, Harry had to admit that this was Diagon Alley at its absolute best. Everywhere he looked, witches and wizards were smiling and laughing, walking amongst one another without the slightest hint of darkness in their eyes. He could see magical creatures, those more widely accepted by the magical world that it, wander about as well, and despite the fact that Harry was completely aware that Pureblood prejudice was stronger now than ever, he couldn't help but wish that the world had been like this when he had first been introduced to it.

He stepped into the throngs and continued on to Gringotts, where he would first deposit the money he had brought with him in a new vault. The bank itself was unchanged from his own time in the distant future, but the amount of noise and bustle within was far from the same. Instead of the goblins and wizarding citizens being somewhat subdued, their exchanges quiet and slow, everything was alive with noise and challenge and speed. He stopped just inside the door to take it all in for a moment, before moving towards the only available goblin he could see.

"Hullo, I'm looking to open a new vault and deposit some money." He smiled at the goblin and patted his money pouch softly.

"Alright, wand please, Mr-,"

Harry held out his wand and smiled. It was strange, people not knowing who he was, but he was sure he would get used to it. It was easier with the goblins, after all, they didn't really care about the wizards they were dealing with - just their gold. "Mr. Potter."

The goblin looked up sharply, its beady eyes glaring intensely, and Harry had the sudden thought that maybe he should have hid his identity. But that thought was immediately dismissed, because with the way the goblin was looking at him (almost as if he could see into Harry's soul) Harry knew that lying would have been the worst mistake possible.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I see. Very well then, follow me." He nodded at Harry and turned around. Harry sighed and tucked his wand back into his robes before following. The goblin stopped to speak to a younger goblin, before turning back to Harry.

"This, Mr. Potter, is Griphook. He will help you complete the paperwork, before taking you to your new vault."

Harry stared for a moment, before blinking and trying to mask his surprise. "Uh, okay. Thank you." He tried to push thoughts of the goblin's future out of his head, knowing that it would only serve to confuse him.

The goblin nodded and left Harry with Griphook, who stood there with a grin on his face. "Come along, Mr. Potter. There is much to be done." Harry followed him into a room, and when Griphook gestured towards a chair, he sat down.

"Here is the contract you will have to sign, and I hope you find everything to your satisfaction. Just tap your wand against it when you are finished." Griphook handed over a roll of parchment, his eyes gleaming, and Harry smiled.

"Thank you," he said, taking a moment to look over the contract before signing his name at the bottom. He hesitated a moment, toying with the idea of putting a fake first name, before deciding that ultimately there wasn't any point. He signed his full name, Harry James Potter, tapped his wand gently against the paper, and handed the contract back.

Griphook glanced at the signature and nodded. He snapped his fingers and with a flash of white light, the contract vanished. In its place was now a key, and Griphook grinned. "This is the key to your new vault, Mr. Potter. Come with me." He led Harry through the bank and down into its deeper parts, before stopping at one of the carts and hopping in. Harry sighed and did the same; he had known this would be necessary, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He had hated these blasted cart rides ever since his first trip to Gringotts with Hagrid, and over the years that had never changed.

The ride was surprisingly short, and soon they both hopped out and turned towards the wall beside them. Griphook tapped it with his hand and a door appeared. He grinned and handed the key to Harry, before pointing at the lock with a long crooked finger. Harry pushed the key into the lock and twisted slowly. As soon as he had finished twisting, the door vanished and he was left holding the key out awkwardly. He flushed and pulled his arm back before shoving the key into his pocket.

"Thank you," He nodded at Griphook before stepping into his vault and glancing around. It wasn't very large, though he knew he didn't need an overtly large vault, and he found that he was satisfied. Pulling his pouch from his pocket, he opened it and turned it upside down, dumping his money onto the floor of the vault. Galleons and Sickles and Knuts flowed out from within, and he stood there patiently as they continued to flow out. He had been so grateful for Hermione's wizardspace extension charm, which she had taught him during their time on the run, and he had spent the better part of a day stuffing all of his vast fortune inside the tiny little bag.

Finally, the flow began to thin, and Harry shook the last few Galleons out of the pouch before placing his vault key inside it and putting it back in his pocket. He now took a step back, surveying the room and smiling with satisfaction. What had once been empty space, was now filled with gleaming gold, silver and bronze. This vault now held the vast majority of the Black and Potter fortunes from the future, and although Harry knew it wasn't as much as, say, the Malfoy fortune, it was still a considerable amount. He had left behind a sizable portion for his godson and Andromeda and the Weasley's, so that even in his absence they wouldn't find themselves struggling. If he were to admit it to himself, the real reason he had left behind so much was to assuage his guilt; he had left Teddy and Andromeda and the Weasley's behind, and knew that he would never forgive himself. They were the only family he really had, and despite knowing that his task would make their lives in the future happier, he still felt an overwhelming amount of guilt.

He turned to Griphook with a nod of satisfaction. "Yes, this will do nicely." He waved his wand to sort the money into piles, before summoning some of it and putting it back into his pouch. He would need to buy certain things to prepare for his task, and he didn't want to have to come back. He let Griphook lead him out and tried to calm his stomach on the cart ride back towards the entrance of the bank. When they were back in the hustle and bustle of the customers, Harry turned to smile one last time at the goblin. Griphook was looking at him intensely, his eyes narrowed slightly. Harry frowned and scratched his neck. "What? Is something wrong?"

Griphook only looked at him, consideringly. "Harry James Potter. I have never met you before, and yet you recognize me. Why?"

Harry spluttered and took a step back in alarm. "I- I don't know what-,"

Griphook grinned and shook his head. "Ah, but you do! I see it in your eyes." He took a small step forwards and lowered his voice. "Do you think I don't know Potter and Black gold when I see it? That I can't sense the magic?"

Now Harry was confused. Sense the magic? What? "Huh?"

The goblin grinned wider. "It should not be possible, I know, for you to have so much of both ancient and noble house fortunes, for there have been no break-ins, no stolen gold. But neither are these duplicates, Mr. Potter." He gestured towards Harry's money pouch and took a moment to think. "Ah yes, not stolen at all. You are an heir to both, I see." He paused once again, before his eyes gleamed even brighter and his teeth clacked together. "Or to be more precise, you will be an heir."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing mind. How on earth did the goblin figure that out? Was there any sense in denying it? Harry glanced down at Griphook and shuddered at the pointy teeth he could see. No, there probably wasn't. He thought quickly before saying, "You can't tell anyone, Griphook, but I know you in the future. And yes, I am the heir to both Potter and Black fortunes, far, far into the future." He straightened up and smiled benignly at the goblin who passed by them, giving them as suspicious look over the top of its spectacles. "I hope that won't be a problem?" He said more loudly, folding his arms and pasting a bored look on his face.

Griphook grinned. "No, Mr. Potter, that will not be a problem. Thank you for your business."

Harry nodded and grinned back, knowing that despite the strange transaction it had all been legitimate and that goblins didn't really concern themselves with where the gold came from, so long as Harry continued to bring them business. He let out a silent sigh of relief as he was leaving the bank. 'Thank Merlin that's over,' he thought to himself as he made his way down the steps and into the bustling crowd.

* * *

He had gone to a few shops in Diagon Alley, picking up the things he would need for his short stay at the Leaky Cauldron and purchasing a meal since he had missed breakfast. He had clothing and supplies, and had even thought about buying an owl. He had ultimately decided against it, at least for the moment, as an owl would only complicate things more and he didn't want another responsibility before completing his task. He had then entered London, apparating into an alley which stood near a rundown phonebooth. The air was frosty and the dark clouds above promised a cold evening, whether due to rain or snow nobody knew for sure.

Harry was standing outside the Ministry, wearing Muggle clothing and smiling at any Muggle who passed by, trying not to attract any unwanted attention to himself. His eyes were caught by the headline of one of the newspapers someone had left laying on the ground, and Harry stooped down to pick it up. His eyes scanned it quickly, but came to a stop when they saw the date in the top left corner. He stood there on the street, frozen, his hands clutching the Muggle newspaper tight enough to crumple it. He had known how far back in time he'd traveled. He had. But seeing it there, in front of him, somehow made it all the more real. The undisputable proof of this Muggle newspaper sent Harry's mind reeling, and it seemed like for the first time since he had arrived here six hours earlier, that he really understood what that meant.

'Holy shit,' he thought, his eyes still fixated on the date. 'Holy fucking shit.' He hadn't thought about it, not really. His only thought had been his task. But here he was, standing in front of the Ministry of Magic, 53 years before he was even supposed to be born.

Holy fucking shit.

* * *

After that shock, Harry ultimately decided that visiting and registering with the Ministry could wait; he had more important things to do, like trying to wrap his brain around it all while getting incredibly drunk. He booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron, trying his best to get used to the fact that now that he wasn't even technically in existence, nobody knew who he was and stranger still, nobody cared. It was honestly the first time that Harry had been in the wizarding world and no one had confronted him, looked at his scar and whispered behind his back. Here, for the first time, Harry Potter was a nobody.

Literally a nobody; he didn't even really exist yet. He wasn't registered with the Ministry - or any Ministry, for that matter - and as far as the Potter's knew, there wasn't anyone named Harry James Potter from their family. All in all, Harry found that there were an overwhelming number of reasons to get blindingly drunk.

And so he did. He purchased more than enough Firewhisky to last a month, and proceeded to drown himself with it. He drank and drank, trying to escape his thoughts, trying to forget the feeling of despair that had risen up when he had looked at the date and refused to leave once he had dropped the newspaper. His head was spinning, and not because he was wasted; it had finally hit him that there was no way he would ever be going back, no way he would ever see his friends or family (those left, anyways) ever again. Harry knew that what he was doing would ultimately mean that all of his friends and family would survive, but now that he was aware of just how distant he was from them all, he felt hopeless.

"It's 'opeless, it is," he slurred quietly, chugging back another tumbler of alcohol. Tom the barkeep watched him wearily as he served the only other customer left at the bar at this late hour of the night. "Bloody 'opeless."

The man sitting next to him turned in his seat unsteadily, his own glass of Firewhisky sloshing around. "Innit always?"

Harry was startled out of his drunken trance. He hadn't realised there was anyone listening to him - he wasn't sure if he had even been speaking out loud. He turned to look forlornly at the person beside him and frowned. "Yeah," he said sadly, tossing back his glass of Firewhisky. "Yeah."

Tom continued to refill their glasses, and the two men continued to chat in the way that drunk people do: that is, without sense or boundaries. Harry mourned his friends and then spoke of the war and his task, and the man nodded along as if he were listening and understanding, when all he really picked up was something about a Lord and then something about a goblin. This served to send him off on a tirade about why he was there, and it was Harry's turn to listen to a story which made just as little sense to him as his had made to the other man. And so Harry drowned himself in the Firewhisky until he was completely unaware of his surroundings. Both were kicked out of the bar by Tom not long after, and Harry patted the man on the back before wobbling his way to his room. He sat on the bed, trying to bend down to untie his shoes, but his fingers weren't really working and his head felt too heavy for such an onerous task. He sat back up and stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his brain speeding along even as everything else seemed to slow down.

Suddenly doubts began to pop up in his mind; after all, if Dumbledore hadn't been able to defeat Tom Riddle, what made him think he would be able to do it? Just because he was the one who killed him in the future, didn't mean anything now! The prophecy hadn't even happened yet- would happen for another fifty or so years! What if he can't do it? What if he's not strong enough? What if everything he had done, everything he, his friends and his family had sacrificed was for nothing, and Tom Riddle rose up anyways? But his thoughts were cut off by a yawn, and suddenly his mind was reassuringly blank. He toppled onto his bed and closed his eyes, and let the pleasantness of being completely wasted carry him off into the first truly dreamless sleep he'd had in ages.

* * *

The next day Harry woke up with a splitting headache and a horrible taste in his mouth. He quickly ran to the toilet and vomited up last night's alcohol, before rinsing his mouth out with water and groaning. He spent a moment just resting his head against the cold porcelain of the sink, but new that he had to leave eventually. His doubts from the night before returned full force, but Harry shoved them down and ignored them. He showered and brushed his teeth and changed into fresh robes before he groaned and started to remove them. He had forgotten that he would be going to a Muggle area, and that he would be better received if he were wearing Muggle clothing instead. He glanced out the window and saw the snow covering the ground and decided that maybe he would transfigure one of his cloaks into a Muggle snow jacket, just to be safe. He threw on trousers and a jumper, making sure to ignore the fact that it didn't have a large knitted letter H on the front, before transfiguring a cloak into a jacket and throwing that on as well. He slipped his wand into his pocket and pushed his fringe off of his forehead.

'Alright,' he thought wearily. 'Let's do this.' He closed his eyes and thought back to his trip with Dumbledore in the Pensieve. Holding the image in his mind, he pulled his wand out and turned in a circle.

He apparated into an alleyway, making sure that no one had seen him, before exiting. Harry took a deep breath and adjusted his jacket, making sure his wand was secure in the pocket and that it wasn't visible; he didn't want to catch the attention of any Muggles in the area, after all. He glanced around, taking in the downtrodden shops and the blank faces of the people around him. They all looked poor and impoverished, as if the world had been harsh and life was out to get them. In fact, he recognized the looks on their faces as one he had seen in the mirror more and more often during his days with the Dursley's, and then during his time in the war. He knew that the world could be cruel and that life was unforgiving, and he couldn't help but feel empathy for those who knew the same. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a few deep breaths; he hadn't expected this journey to effect him so soon. He hadn't thought about what all of this would mean for him before deciding that it was the only way to go. Like a typical Gryffindor, he had rushed ahead into the journey without thought to the consequences or outcome. He hadn't even gotten to the reason why he was here, and already he could feel his heart bursting with emotion he didn't want to be feeling.

He stood there for a few more seconds, before opening his eyes and continuing on. He was determined, and there would be no stopping him, no matter what he was feeling at the moment. He was not a child any longer, and he would do what he came here to do. He would not fail, could not fail; not when there was so much at stake. He walked past a row of hedges, and felt some unnamed emotion when he finally caught sight of his destination.

The orphanage.

Harry looked at the building with a wary look in his eye. It wasn't in good shape, and in fact appeared more disheveled than even Dumbledore's pensieve memories had shown it to be. He could hear the voices of children, and straightened up. 'It doesn't matter how I feel, I have to do what is right.' he thought to himself, trying to be firm and ignoring the guilt he could sense rising up inside. 'I have to do what Dumbledore never thought to do.'

He pushed through the gates and walked up to the orphanage to knock on the door. As he stood there, waiting for someone to let him in, he listened to the children laughing from inside. He squashed his guilt and blocked his ears to the sound of laughter; he knew that if he didn't stop Tom now, then not only would he grow to become Lord Voldemort, but those happy children would grow up in constant terror of what he would do next. Harry had never discussed it with Dumbledore, but they were both well aware of the fact that Tom had begun his torture long before his rise as the Dark Lord. Though they had never seen it happening within the memories, Harry wasn't stupid; he could read between the lines.

And so he was here to do what Dumbledore never had the courage or the heart to do; stop Tom Riddle before he ever became Lord Voldemort.

* * *

 **AN:** SO! There it is, the first chapter:) Tell me what you think, PM me and review! This chapter is really long, and I have high hopes that every chapter will be around this length. I can't promise regular updates (university is dragging me down) but I can promise I'll update more frequently if you review. Tell me what you want to see in this story, give me suggestions and what not, and I'll see what I can fit in:)


	3. Chapter 2

**AN:** This is the second chapter! Huge thanks to those who reviewed, favourited and/or followed this story! Thank you all so much, you are fantastic. Anyways, this is the chapter where the action really starts, and after this I think we might get to see more characters from Canon...but I'm not totally sure yet. Anyways, enjoy!

 **Chapter Two: December 1927**

Harry didn't know what he had been expecting, standing there on the front step of a muggle orphanage. He had a vision in his mind of hateful red eyes and bright green curses, and of a spiteful child who tormented other children and tortured pets. He had the sound of a cruel laugh and of his mother's scream ringing in his ears, and he could practically feel the darkness and hatred of every one of the Horcruxes he had come across on his skin. So when the door to the orphanage finally opened, he was barely able to hold back from shooting off Unforgivables through the open doorway as a preemptive defensive measure.

But when the door opened, instead of the Dark Lord or even the wretched little boy he remembered from Dumbledore's memories, there was an old lady standing before him, a cane in her hands and a frown upon her face. She scowled at him, her grey hair in a tight bun and her rectangular glasses halfway down her nose. Harry's jaw hung open, as every vision and image in his mind spun around in a dizzying mix, and he tried to regain his composure. "Um, I mean, uhh..."

"Yes? Well, what did you need?" The woman's voice was stern and demanding, not unlike McGonagall's teaching voice, and it brought his thoughts to a screeching halt.

"Well, I...I mean, I guess I-," he continued to stutter, trying desperately to figure out what exactly was going on. He had been standing there ready for the Dark Lord, ready to face the hateful Tom Riddle, seething with pent up anger and pain and hatred. He had been so ready to whip out his wand and kill the little bastard once and for all, to make sure he would never get the chance to kill Harry's friends and family. And instead, this woman who reminded him very strongly of his Transfiguration professor stood there, a glare on her face, as she demanded to know his business.

"I don't have all day, young man, so if you could kindly hurry up, that would be most appreciated!"

Harry shook his head and took a step back, removing himself from the steps. "No, I'm sorry, I- I'm sorry, I have to...um go, I have to go." He moved away from the building quickly, his mind still reeling and his eyes wide open in disbelief. His hands were shaking so hard he stuffed them in his pockets, trying to get them to stop. Harry wasn't sure what had just happened; one minute he had been fine, and the next minute he was a stuttering, confused mess. Despite being in a muggle area, surrounded by muggles, standing in front of a muggle orphanage, the old muggle lady had completely thrown him off. He didn't know why, but he hadn't thought that he would be confronted with a muggle. It seemed he had actually forgotten where he was for a moment, so caught up in his hatred and determination that he thought Tom would be the one to open the door, be there taunting him.

No, he didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been that.

* * *

The second time Harry found himself at the orphanage, he was decidedly less sure of himself, although his hatred still sizzled near the surface, just under his skin. He thought he knew what to expect, but took a few calming deep breaths anyways, just in case. He raised his hand to knock, only to have the door be pulled open before his fist could even move forwards. He pulled his hand back and flushed in embarrassment. This time, the woman only glared at him, not bothering to ask his business.

Harry looked around himself in a desperate attempt to come up with something to say. He didn't want to stun this woman, but he couldn't think of a single reason for why he would be there. "Uh, hi."

She didn't look impressed with that greeting but replied anyways. "I suppose you're here to adopt, then?" She regarded him coldly, peering at him through narrowed eyes.

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. That was the perfect excuse, and he could always obliviate her after he was done. "Yes! Yes, that is exactly why I'm here."

The woman sighed and held the door open. "I suppose you'll have to come in, then."

Harry smiled at her and stepped inside. "Thank you," he said, but she just ignored him, continuing on down the hall. Harry could hear voices upstairs and instinctively knew that the children were in their rooms. He thought about stunning the woman now and quickly going upstairs to finish off Tom, but thought better of it when he caught the suspicious gaze of the old lady. He tried to smile reassuringly, but she just huffed and pointed to a room. He looked inside and saw a couch, a table, and not much else. When he turned back to the woman with raised eyebrows, she sighed.

"Sit here and wait. I will bring the children down." She glared at him until he was sitting.

"Thank you," he said, trying to smile but failing. The thought of finally getting to see Tom was too distracting.

"You're welcome, Mr..."

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Mr Potter. And only the boys, please. If you don't mind."

She nodded. "Mr Potter. I will be right back with the boys." And with that, she left.

Harry immediately pulled out his wand, feeling extremely uncomfortable in the unfamiliar setting without it in his hand. He took a moment to look around, noting the few photographs that hung on the otherwise bare walls, trying to distract himself. He heard the voices of children getting louder, and listened to their footsteps on the stairs as they descended, and he felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. Finally! Finally he would see Tom Riddle, finally he would get to do what it is he came to do. He would get to watch as the life died in that sick bastard's eyes, get to ensure the survival of his parents and his family and his friends.

He was just thinking about how good it would feel, knowing who he was killing, knowing who he was _saving_ when the voices stopped and the children marched in, the old woman behind them. There were about fifteen of them in total, all standing there in a line, watching him with curiosity.

"Names, please! You know the drill." The woman spoke up, ordering the children to recite their names, but Harry barely heard her. He was so focused on the children, on their faces, searching for a specific one. He watched for that smirk he could recall so well, for that evil glint and that dark hair. They began to recite their names, and Harry, who having reached the end of the line without any luck thought that maybe he had missed one, started over, this time listening as they said their names.

George. Sam. Alexander. Brandon. Maxamillion. John. Johnathan. Anthony. Timothy. Michael. Gregory. Vaughn. Richard. James. Edward. That was fifteen in total. A few had dark hair, a few had brown eyes, and a few of them had pale skin. None of them were smirking, and none of them had an evil glint in their eyes. Harry scanned the line frantically, feeling a sense of desperation rise up within his chest; 'He has to be here, he _has_ to.' Harry could feel himself beginning to panic. He wasn't there. There was no boy with dark hair and pale skin and brown eyes. There was no Tom.

 _There was no Tom._ Harry closed his eyes as Edward stated his name, the panic gone and nothing but pain and sorrow in its place. He didn't know what had gone wrong, but obviously something had, because apparently Tom Riddle didn't exist in this place. He had screwed up somehow, with the Time Turner, had messed up the past so much that there was no chance of him being able to get rid of Tom Riddle. And that meant that he came back in time for nothing. That meant that he had left all of his friends behind for no reason. Had left Teddy behind for no reason. Harry's heart clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears.

"I'm sorry, but they aren't-" Harry began, opening his eyes and standing up suddenly. He needed to get out of there, he needed to leave and find a way to go back to his own time, he needed to-

His words and his thoughts were cut off by the old woman. "And this little one here is called Tom." She held out the tiny bundle in her arms, and Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the baby, wrapped in a blanket, that she held. He froze, his green eyes locked onto brown ones as the baby stared up at him innocently.

" _Tom?_ " he choked out, his throat suddenly dry and his stomach in knots.

"Yes, Tom Riddle Jr., according to the mother. He's been with us barely more than a year now, I'd say. Very quiet, doesn't make any fuss." She held the bundle out for Harry, and Harry automatically reached out to hold it, the way Andromeda had shown him with Teddy only a few months before. Baby Tom blinked, his eyes still staring into Harry's, and he gave a little yawn.

Harry could feel his arms shaking and hurriedly handed the child over before sitting back down to try and collect himself. The old woman smiled at him and took the child, along with the rest of the children back upstairs. "I'll leave you here to decide, then. Come upstairs when you're ready, Mr Potter."

He nodded distractedly, twisting his wand in his fingers. 'A baby?' he thought, somewhat stupidly. 'Tom Riddle is a baby?' His fingers clenched around his wand, and despite the shock, he knew what he had to do. The hatred which had been a constant companion in the past few months had fled in the face of such a surprise, but it was quickly returning, bubbling just beneath his skin, waiting to overflow. He pulled up images of the Dark Lord, of the Tom Riddle he remembered from the memories and from the diary, and pushed the thought of the baby out of his mind. His wand began sparking angrily, and he stood up, knowing what he had to do, knowing that this was it.

He was going to finally do what he came here to do.

* * *

Harry walked up the staircase, quickly and quietly moving past the children's rooms. He ignored the sounds of their chatter and laughter, focusing his ears farther down the hall, to where he thought the nursery might be located. He followed the sound of humming until he reached the closed door of the nursery, and he pressed his ear against the wood, trying to find out who might be inside. He could hear the sounds of movement, and suddenly the images in his head stopped spinning and one of them became very clear; Voldemort, standing in front of him, taunting him, calling his mother a mudblood, calling his father a coward. Harry's rage exploded, and he surged forwards, pushing the door open forcefully. He could feel his features twisting up with hatred, could feel his magic pulsing dark and angry, ready to tear and cut and kill.

"Mr Potter, I see you've made a deci-" The old woman began to speak, having turned around and caught sight of him.

He snarled at her and flicked his wand. "Stupefy." The red beam of light hit her in the chest, causing her to topple over, her cane falling down with her. He stepped into the room, closing the door and casting silence and locking charms to make sure he was left alone. Harry's eyes were ablaze with the force of his anger, and he knew that the moment he thought the words, the killing curse would explode from the tip of his wand with the force of a tsunami. "You're dead, Riddle! You killed my parents, you bastard, and you murdered my friends and my family! I'm going to make you wish you were never born, you useless piece of-" He stopped abruptly. His wand was raised before him, its sparking and glowing tip pointed directly in the face of Tom. The one-year-old's eyes were closed, his eyelids fluttering with every slow breath he took. His little fists were curled up around the leg of a scruffy teddy bear, and his legs kicked restlessly at the blankets which confined them.

Harry mind went blank as he watched the child sleep, and his magic and anger deflated. He raised his wand above the boy, but the words he so desperately wanted to say wouldn't leave his lips. He lowered the wand and sighed; he couldn't do it, not while the boy was sleeping. He just couldn't kill a sleeping infant in cold blood with no mercy. He sighed again and glanced regretfully at the old woman, lying crumpled on the ground. He whispered, "Ennervate," and quickly obliviated her. As she was blinking herself awake and trying to figure out why she was on the floor, Harry picked up the baby and cancelled the charms on the door before apparating to his room at the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Harry watched as Tom slept, curled up in blankets on Harry's bed, his soft breaths making his tiny chest move up and down. He twirled his wand in his hand and closed his eyes. Should he do it now, while he was still sleeping? No, he wanted Tom to look at him, to see what was coming. To watch the killing curse build up, to see it flying towards him.

He opened his eyes, his hands curled into fists and grinned. This, this was what he'd been waiting for. He stood up and pushed the blankets aside, making sure to knock Tom around a bit. Tom slowly woke up, his eyes blinking slowly as he took in his new surroundings. He rolled onto his front and pulled himself into a standing position by grabbing onto the headboard. Harry. who had his back now turned, was standing very still. He closed his eyes and pulled all his anger and hatred once again to the forefront of his mind, making sure it was focused on the face of Voldemort. He let himself feel the pain from the final battle, let the guilt and self-loathing overwhelm him. He could feel the power building up inside of him, could feel the magic humming, waiting to be released.

Suddenly, he heard a small noise behind him, and Harry's eyes shot open. He spun around, his wand pointed towards the child and a terrible grin on his face. Harry's eyes were glowing with his magic and his wand was practically vibrating with green light. He stared at the baby, stared into dark brown eyes, envisioned a flash of red, saw the hint of an evil smirk in his mind, and he drew back his wand. This child would _not_ grow up to do terrible things, it would _not grow up to kill his friends or his family!_

 _"Avada-"_

Tom's eyes were wide with terror, and he began to cry, recoiling from Harry's wand and hiding as much as he could in the blankets on the bed. His little body shook with the force of his sobs, and Harry, choking on the spell, had a sudden vision of Voldemort, standing in the exact same position, holding his wand between the green eyes of a one-year-old. He flung his wand from his body, as if ridding himself of something disgusting, and stared down at his hands in horror. In his quest, in this journey to defeat a great evil, he had nearly become the thing he hated most. He had nearly murdered an innocent child, based on something that would happen in the future. Prophecy or no, Harry felt sick; how had he thought killing an innocent child, killing a _baby,_ would be the answer? How had he even entertained the idea?

He collapsed onto the end of the bed, his head in his hands and his eyes squeezed shut. He could feel the tears welling up, could feel himself shuddering. Was this what he'd come to? Why? Why'd he ever think that this was okay? Voldemort was the killer, not _him_. And here he was, thinking of killing a baby. _'Wanting to kill a baby,'_ he thought to himself, feeling sick to his stomach. He turned his head and looked at the cowering child in despair. A surge of utter hopelessness rose up inside of him, and shuddered violently. There was no loving mother here to sacrifice herself for Tom. There was no father, ready to fight to the death to save him. There was just Harry, wanting to kill him, ready to murder an innocent child to secure his own future. Harry closed his eyes and whimpered.

He was no better than Voldemort.

Tom was once again sleeping, his tiny body now curled up defensively against the headboard. Harry stared blankly at the child, trying to figure out what to do. What do you do, when you've just tried to kill a baby but realised that you can't? What happens now? Harry sighed and stood up slowly. He thought about returning Tom to the orphanage, but almost immediately tossed that idea aside; if Tom were to grow up there, he would most definitely become the wretched Tom Riddle Dumbledore would come to know. No, Harry needed something else, a way for Tom to grow up without becoming jaded and evil. He glanced around the room, hoping to come up with an idea. Maybe he could take Tom to a wizarding orphanage? Did they even have those? He groaned. 'Oh Merlin, what the fuck am I going to do now?'

His groan managed to wake Tom from his fitful sleep, and Harry watched as the child rolled over and opened his eyes. Tom stared at Harry for a moment, as if he were confused, before his eyes widened and he shoved himself backwards, fear shining in his eyes. Harry felt something break inside at that, and could only close his own eyes in despair. He knew what it was like, distrusting the adults around you. He knew what that fear felt like, knew it only too well. He opened his eyes and knelt down as slowly as possible.

"Tom," he said softly, his voice sad and his eyes tearing up. Tom watched him fearfully, the blankets clutched tightly in his fists. "I'm sorry about before, okay? I'm so, so sorry. I swear I'll never do that again, I promise." He slowly reached a hand forwards, trying to placate the baby, but Tom only scooted farther back, trying his best to disappear.

Harry choked back a sob and let his hand fall onto the bed. He said, tears streaming down his face, "I swear on my magic that I will never do anything like that again. I'm so sorry." He dropped his head until it was resting against the sheets, and began to sob. His shoulders shook with the force of his crying, and he could feel the sheets becoming wet beneath his face. It wasn't until a tiny hand touched his cheek, that Harry opened his eyes. Green stared into brown for a moment, as Harry's crying slowed down and Tom moved closer. Harry stayed still, not wanting to scare the boy, and Tom slowly came to lay down beside Harry's head, his face turned towards Harry, and his eyes wide open but no longer fearful.

"Hello, Tom," Harry whispered, his voice weak and his heart clenching. Tom looked at him for a moment longer, before he closed his eyes and curled up to go back to sleep.

 **AN:** SO! There's the second chappie!:) What did you think? Also, should I bring in more characters from Canon? I was thinking about maybe introducing Dumbledore...and possibly some of the Pureblood families? I don't know, tell me what you think. If the response continues to be this fantastic, I'll update super regularly, just saying.


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